


Who Needs Directions?

by caliowl, NightFoliage



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adventure, Agism, Comedy, Established Relationship, Gravity Falls esque humor, Incest, M/M, Memory Loss, Old Men In Love, Post-Canon, Reference to Injury, Stan O' War II, Twincest, but with swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliowl/pseuds/caliowl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightFoliage/pseuds/NightFoliage
Summary: From the 2017 Stancest Scavenger Hunt list of prompts:Stan and Ford refuse to ask for directions.Or, Stan and Ford refuse to ask for directions seven times and the one time they did.
Relationships: Ford Pines/Stan Pines
Comments: 18
Kudos: 38





	Who Needs Directions?

-1

The path is well-worn, though few travelers have been said to have made it out alive. The large rock walls on either side of them with vines growing up and above make for a nice, adventurous trek and the inexplicable fog and the human skeletons strewn about provides a lovely ‘you could die here’ atmosphere. 

All in all, Stan would rate this “perilous” maze about a two out of five stars. It’s definitely got the  _ feel _ of adventure, but where are the stakes? The strange creatures? The fact that he can hear Ford clicking his pen absently as he glances around for something to do makes it clear that this is not one of their more harrowing adventures.

Although if Ford keeps clicking that pen, Stan could always provide the danger himself.

“Can you quit it already with the freakin’ pen?” Stan asks, finally reaching the end of his rope. “I know this is like a walk in the park for you, but I didn’t think going into this thing that the scariest part of this maze was gonna be trapped for hours with a bored nerd!”

Ford huffs out a laugh and stows the pen away in the breast pocket of his coat. “Sorry Stanley. You know when I get lost in my head I tend to fidget.” 

Stan groans. “And that’s another thing! I thought this maze was supposed to be ‘perilous’, but ever since we arrived I haven’t seen jack squat! ‘Cept for these guys every six feet or so,” he says, gesturing towards the skeletal remains. “What even  _ possibly _ could’ve happened to them? Did they actually manage to die of boredom? Because from where I’m standing, I’m not seeing a whole lot of action!”

Suddenly, the earth jumps underneath their feet, and a low, guttural growl can be heard emanating from the fog before them. Stan steps in front of Ford and can hear the flutter of his brother’s jacket behind him, indicating that his twin has gone for one of his many weapons. The earth continues to shudder in pulses, getting more and more powerful as the growling gets louder and louder. 

A figure slowly emerges from the fog. A gigantic woman’s face with a cruel twist to her lips and a sharp gleam in one of her slitted eyes appears, followed by large forepaws. As the fog clears, more of her body is displayed, and Stan can see that most of it is in the shape of a lion, save for two large wings tucked close to her back and a hissing, spitting viper taking the place of her tail. 

She crouches down before them, like a housecat before two caught mice, and grins wide, her sharp incisors gleaming in the light from Stan’s flashlight.

“Ah, finally I meet the two travelers foolish enough to have entered my maze!” She purrs, eyeing the two older men with hungry eyes. “Tell me, are you afraid of death?”

There’s a short pause where the silence grows and stretches uncomfortably long, until-

It’s broken by a long, petulant groan.

“Really? A sphinx?” Stan whines, causing the beast to draw back in surprise. “ _ That’s _ what the big danger was?” He sighs and rubs a hand over his brow. “Alright poindexter, you’re up. Make it quick, would ya? I don’t wanna spend any more time down here than we have to.”

“I don’t think you understand,” the sphinx tries. “You cannot pass by me  _ alive _ unless you successfully answer my riddle. Some have described it as incredibly vexing, almost maddening-”

“Look lady, I’m gonna stop you right there,” Stan says. “If the answer to your riddle isn’t something like ‘man’ or ‘day and night’, then have at it. Otherwise, my bro an’ me have got a maze to figure out.”

The sphinx’s mouth drops open in surprise. “I- How-?”

“My apologies,” Ford begins, ignoring his brother’s “Ford, don’t apologize to giant women who want to strangle and eat you!” in the background. “But your riddles have become well known in our modern culture due to popularized, ancient Greek myths.”

The sphinx blinks a few times, before she stutters out. “I don’t- Popular  _ myths _ ?  _ Ancient?? _ ”

Stan quickly slaps a hand over his brother’s mouth. “Did he say ‘ancient’? No, not ancient, my brother’s just misplaced his  _ head _ ,” a loud  _ thump _ and a groan from behind his hand follow the word, “for a second there! They’re really new,  _ very _ modern stories! You look fantastic, by the way. Do you style your own hair?”

The sphinx groans and throws her giant paws over her eyes in despair. “I can’t  _ believe _ this! Give ‘em an inch and they take a mile! I should’ve eaten that writer years ago.” She sighs and rests her head on her crossed paws. “I suppose that’s what I get for giving adventurers a chance to survive.”

Ford extracts himself from his twin’s hold and approaches the upset sphinx. “There, there,” he coos, attempting to pat her head consolingly, though in his normal, awkward fashion ends up looking like he’s attempting to pat a fire with his stiff and flailing movements. Stan facepalms behind him. “They’re really very difficult riddles. I’m sure that’s why they’ve become so well-known! The author that repeated them most likely did so out of admiration.”

The sphinx lifted her head dolefully and sniffled. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely!”

Stan claps his hands together. “Well, that’s settled. So I guess we’ll just be on our way and get out of your hair.” He hooks his left arm through Ford’s right and begins hauling him along.

“Wait!” 

They freeze in their tracks as the sphinx leaps in front of them, shaking the ground beneath their feet and causing them to nearly tip over. 

“What news have you, of the outside world?” She asks breathlessly. “What’s it like up on the surface?”

“On the surface?” Ford parrots. “Oh my,  _ so _ much has changed-!”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Stan says, slapping a hand over his twin’s mouth again. Ford’s eyes look miffed behind his glasses. “You want answers? We wanna get outta here. Let’s make a deal.”

The sphinx raises an eyebrow and her tail thumps consideringly behind her. “You want directions? But I thought you were such daring and well-read adventurers! Surely you already know the way!”

Stan’s lips thin and Ford ducks out of his twin’s hold. “Stanley. You are  _ not _ going to refuse her help.”

“Help? This is help??” Stan asks, gesturing to the grinning sphinx before them. “She’s making fun of us, Ford!”

“Only because  _ you _ were trying to exact information from her!”

Stan scoffs. “Who knows if she’d even be telling the truth, anyway?”

The sphinx idly grooms a paw as they talk, and faux-casually brushes a piece of hair away from her face. “Are you calling me a liar?”

Stan’s eyes narrow. “I’m calling you unpredictable.”

The sphinx smiles wide, fangs gleaming in the limited light of the tunnel. “Smart man.”

Ford sighs as the two continue to stare each other down. “I’ll just do this the old fashioned way then, shall I?” He asks, going to a wall and putting a hand on it. “Come along, Stanley. This will no doubt take a while.”

“Seeing as you’ll be my guests for the foreseeable future,” the sphinx says, politely ignoring Stan’s scoff at the word ‘guests’, “I suppose we’ll have some time to chat while we walk.”

Ford perks up considerably. “Oh, I just can’t  _ wait _ to tell you all about the changes that have occurred since your time up on land…”

Stanley groans loud and long behind them, but neither cares to pay him any mind.

After everything was said and done, Stanley would rate the “perilous” maze a three out of five stars. One star for atmosphere, one star for being able to say he was pursued by a sphinx (people rarely asked for the context and Stan never offered it), and one star for the new penpal they’d acquired for Mabel, who they’d ended up video-chatting partway through for updates on popular culture.

Next time, Stan resolves to himself, after learning more than he’d ever care to know about Sev'ral Timez and something called “shipping”, he’d just ask for the damn directions. 

\-----

-2

Stan approaches this new resolution the way a cat would approach a large body of water - with trepidation and a healthy dose of fear.

Especially considering that this time a  _ siren _ is involved.

He and Ford have been out at sea for a good week or so, and haven’t seen another person in about as long. Ordinarily, Stan would wake up after Ford, they’d cook breakfast together and continue sailing. So when Stan woke up this morning and found Ford’s side of the bed empty, he wasn’t fazed. He’d just grumbled and groaned and hauled his old carcass out of bed and headed for the kitchenette. But when he poked his head out of their shared quarters, Ford was nowhere to be found. 

Stan had simply shrugged and started making his famous Stancakes. But when the pancakes had been plated and Ford  _ still _ hadn’t shown up, Stan became suspicious. He’d left their plates on the table and headed up on deck, heedless of the cold. He hadn’t heard Ford moving around while he’d been cooking, and his suspicions were confirmed when he circled the boat and both twin and dinghy were nowhere to be found.

“Great,” he’d muttered, leaning against the stern of the Stan O’ War II. “Just great. Taking off and leaving me here without a word. Who  _ does _ that?” He’d released a gusty sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “C’mon, Sixer. Where the hell did you go?”

“You lookin’ for the other guy?”

The voice had violently startled him out of his reverie. Stan whipped around in a flash and saw nothing but the ocean and the horizon stretched out before him. A sharp whistle had him looking down into the water below, where he spotted a woman with frizzy red hair waving to him in the water from her spot next to the boat. 

“ _ There _ we go! So, are you? Looking for the other guy, I mean.”

Stan had looked at the woman askance. With how far out they were in the ocean, there was no way this person was human. That left a few options, most of which made him wary. 

“Might be.” He admitted, leaning slightly over the edge. “You seen ‘im?”

“Guy with grey hair, slightly taller than you?”

Stan grunted. “Guy with grey hair, the same height as me, yeah.”

The woman grinned, showing off razor sharp teeth. “Whatever you want to believe, man.”

Stan frowned as he noticed her teeth. “You’re a siren.”

The woman frowned in kind. “So?”

“So why should I be listening to a word you say?” Stan asked, straightening his posture and folding his arms across his chest. “Aren’t you just trying to get me into the water for a quick meal?”

Which was where Stan currently found himself, staring down at the lone siren in a veritable empty ocean, potentially the only being who’d seen Ford and knew where he went. But she was a  _ siren _ , it was her bread and butter to lure men to their doom with unimaginable temptations, (or, well, in this case, Ford’s whereabouts) so he couldn’t possibly trust her. 

He was brought out of his musings by the woman’s high-pitched laughter. “Oh buddy,” she chuckles, “if I wanted to eat you I would’ve done it already. Lucky for you, I’ve eaten fairly recently.” She grins again, showing off her vicious smile. “So, you want me to tell you where he went?”

Stan throws his head back and laughs derisively. “Yeah, I don’t think so, sweetheart.” The siren frowns immediately. “I think I’ll take my chances doing things the old-fashioned way. You know, where I’m  _ not _ likely to be drowned and eaten?”

“You condescending, old codger!” The siren yells up at him, throwing a fist into the ocean. “That other old guy? He  _ asked _ me to help you find him!”

Stan has to laugh again. “Really? That’s the best you could come up with?” He asks. “I know Ford like the back of my hand. He can be a bit naive and a dummy, but there’s no  _ way _ he’s dumb enough to ask a  _ predator _ to give me directions.”

“He  _ did _ !” The siren insists. “That’s why I’m full! He gave me a brisket in exchange!”

Stan frowns. “The brisket we were saving for a special occasion?” As much as he didn’t want to admit it, that  _ did _ sound like a special kind of stupid only Ford could pull off… “No, no way. I refuse to believe it. Outta the way, honey, I got a brother to find.”

The siren suddenly goes as red as her hair. “Fine! I hope you  _ both _ get lost!” And with a vicious swish of her tail she disappears into the depths.

Stan sighs heavily and looks skyward. “Don’t go looking for the brisket,” he tells himself sternly. “He wouldn’t do that. We had special plans for that brisket, and he  _ knows _ that! Would he really be dumb enough to feed it to a man-eating siren in exchange for information?” He leans on the side of the boat, looking far off into the distance for a few seconds or so.

Minutes later finds him in their shared kitchenette, rifling through their little refrigerator for the brisket that’s nowhere to be found.

“...Goddamnit Ford,” Stan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

Well, it was time to do things the old fashioned way. Stan sighs as he goes to their junk drawer and pulls out a crystal pendulum before making his way over to the map drawer. When he eventually finds his brother, they’ll have a little discussion about giving away directions to man-eating monsters, and Ford will discover how long he’ll be sleeping on the couch to make amends for the brisket.

\-----

-3

“Ford, would you  _ please _ just up and admit defeat already?” Stan groans, his head in his hands as he leans against a dead tree on the equally dead and cracked earth stuck in the middle of a dead forest. “It’s called ‘The Lost Forest of No Return’ for cryin’ out loud! ‘Lost’ is in the title! Just admit you have no idea where you are, and ask the nice, rotting gentleman here,” he points to an animated cadaver, with one eye, a nose and both ears missing, “where the exit is so we can go home?”

“I can’t do that Stanley!” Ford cries, his hair in disarray from where he’s run his hands through it countless times in desperation. “I’m so  _ close _ to the answer! It’s on the tip of my tongue! I just need more time!”

“Look,” Stan sighs, coming over to put a comforting and understanding hand on his shoulder. “I get it. No man likes to stop and ask for directions. Especially from a guy that  _ clearly _ didn’t make it out of here himself.” The corpse hangs its head dolefully in the background. “But look at what we’re up against here! All the roads look the same! All the trees look the same! I swear, I’ve even seen that  _ rock _ before!” He cries, jabbing a thumb in the direction of a large, sharp rock jutting up from the ground. 

“But we’ve been out here for a  _ week _ , Stanford. A whole week! Do you have  _ any _ idea what that does to a man’s psyche?” Stanley cries. “I’m losing my marbles out here! Just please,  _ please _ , do the sane thing and ask the dead man where the exit is? For me?”

There’s silence for several seconds after Stan’s outburst. Stan leans in to examine his brother’s face, which looks rather intense with the madly twitching left eye. It would appear that even the cadaver is holding its non-existent breath as it, too, leans in.

Finally, after several long seconds of silence, Ford mutters, “Rocks…”

Stan groans loudly. “Yes, Ford, rocks! Excellent observation! There’ve only been a  _ million _ of the things out-”

Suddenly Stan feels the lapels of his jacket grabbed harshly and his brother’s face fills his vision. “The  _ rocks _ , Stanley!”

Stanley, having learned how to deal with the mentally unwell during his time out on the streets, posed his question gently and with great enunciation. “The rocks, Stanford?”

Ford, however, was already gone, and when Stan turns it’s to see his brother hovering over the rock he’d just referenced, babbling incoherently about the sun and angles and sigils and all sorts of other nonsense. Stan looks over at the dead body, which offers a shrug and a raised eyebrow over its empty socket.

“Come, Stanley!” Ford cries, already striding off in another direction completely. “I think I’ve finally cracked it! We’ll be out of here yet!”

Stan lets out a gusty sigh and follows dutifully after. “If we end up back here again,” he calls back to the cadaver, “I’m just gonna knock him out and we’ll discuss business!”

The last thing Stan sees before he walks over the hill is the cadaver giving him a thumbs up before the thumb breaks off and rolls downhill, the cadaver staring sadly after it.

\-----

-4

It’s very rare that they have a chance to drop by a major store (Stan, and subsequently, Ford, have a very long rap sheet), but they pass the mall by chance and take it as the opportunity that it is. After all, where are they going to find a sports shop, pro bass shop, bookstore, multiple clothing stores, and restaurants all in one place?

After picking up supplies together, they split up for once so that they could do something that doesn’t interest the other. Stan is doing who-knows-what (Stan wanted him to have plausible deniability) while Ford is thinking about hitting up the bookstore. While the kids have introduced him to a few new stories and books, he’s interested in seeing the new literary world with his own eyes. (He hopes that after thirty years some of the series’ he’s been following have finished and he’s thinking about picking up all the new additions of D,D, and more D.) 

It’s just a matter of finding the bookstore. 

Ford quickly spots a map. He frowns when he gets close. It’s not the worst map he’s seen, but a combination of the fact that he doesn’t know where he is or the names of stores makes it difficult to read. 

Ford clears his throat. “I’m looking for the bookstore,” he says aloud. 

Nothing happens. 

Oh-kay. Perhaps, Earth hasn’t reached that level of technological advancement into instant geographical mapping. (Surprising, considering smartphones have been invented.) 

Then Ford taps on the map, hoping that the interface would produce some directions for him. But when his fingers hit the surface, he realizes it’s just plastic, not a screen like he was expecting. 

Someone chuckles behind him and Ford spins around. 

He has to look up to meet the eyes of a middle-aged mall cop, towering above him, elevated by his standing vehicle (a segway if he remembers the name correctly). Ford doesn’t like the look of the man, with his cruel grin and beady eyes. It reminds him of Crampelter. 

There’s no way he’s asking this man for directions. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” Ford asks, stiffly. 

“Yeah,” the man says with something half-way between a smirk and sneer, “Is there someone I can call for you? It looks like you’re having trouble, old man.” 

Ford has to hold back a frown. And has to hold back to the urge to shoot the man. He’s unaccustomed to earth technology, not senile. Even if he was, that was no way to address another person.

Then Ford looks up at the sneering man considering. Why shouldn’t he just shoot the man and be done with it?

“Hey, I lost ya there!” 

The sound of Stan’s voice dissipates Ford’s anger immediately. The man is walking towards them with a disarming grin on his face. Then he trips over supposedly nothing, stumbling into the mall cop, who catches him. Probably out of instinct and not good will. 

“Whoops, sorry there, officer. Didn’t mean to bump into you, it’s these darn aging ankles,” Stan says with an obnoxious laugh that makes him sound like an old man stereotype. Even slapping his leg for no reason. 

The mall cop rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Are you here to help this guy?” The cop says, pointing at Ford. 

“That’s right,” Stan agreeds, amicably. “We must have gotten turned around.” 

They receive an unimpressed look at that statement. Before Ford can whip out his gun though, Stan stops him with a gentle hand to his back. 

“Come on. Let’s get going,” Stan says, gently steering Ford away. 

Ford lets him, if only because he’s afraid that he’ll do some irreversible harm if he doesn’t leave. Although his control is severely tested when he hears a snickering behind them. There’s a dark feeling that wells up inside him- 

“Let’s go, Ford,” Stan says to him, his voice low. 

-Which dissolves at Stan’s tone. The man sounds mischievous, not defeated. So he follows his brother. 

When they’re a ways away, Stan nudges Ford. Ford looks at Stan curiously, until his twin produces a wallet out of his pocket. One, that isn’t his. His suspicions are confirmed when Stan flips open the wallet and the face of the mall cop is on the ID. 

“You didn’t,” Ford says, slowly starting to smile.

Stan gives him a roguish wink. “Of course, I did. Have to stick it to the man, don’t I?” 

“He’s a mall cop, Stan,” Ford says, exasperated, but also satisfied. Maybe violence would have been a nice revenge, but it would have gotten them kicked out and possibly banned for life from the establishment. Robbing him- that was an excellent second best choice. 

“You can dress a pig up, but he’s gonna always be a pig, Ford,” Stan says, as he divests the wallet of it’s offerings. “Now come on. I know exactly what to buy you.” 

And he does. They’re standing in the bookstore moments later, and Stan starts going to town with their selections. Ford chuckles when he sees his brother acquire the help of several employees. He won’t feel too bad asking for directions here. 

\-----

-5

Stan finds himself in the kitchen. 

Not that the kitchen isn’t nice (it’s functional, has a four stove burner, practically a luxury, a good sized fridge, enough pantry space for his cans of brown meat), but it isn’t the room that he’s looking for. He’s trying to get to the deck. This should be easy. It’s one straight line from the bedroom to the deck, but somehow he can’t figure this out. 

He goes to the bedroom, to the bathroom, to the closet, to the kitchen, out of a door-

And back to the kitchen?

“Stanley? I thought you were going to get some fresh air on the deck?”

Stan almost jumps at the voice, but manages to stop himself in time. He turns to see Ford sitting at the kitchen table. (Of course it’s Ford, who else would it be?) However, his brother isn't paying attention and has his nose buried in one of his journals. 

“Hey, Ford. I was uh- just grabbing a Pitt soda first.”

Stan goes to grab one from the fridge, hiding his face in the door. He looks around, but notices that there are none inside. 

“Guess we ran out of the cold ones, heh,” Stan says. 

Ford only grunts out an acknowledgement. Stan goes to the cabinet where he thinks the sodas are (he’s committed now), but when he opens the cabinet it doesn’t contain anything but rice. (Did they always have a cabinet full of rice?)

Shit. He doesn’t want to keep opening cabinets, it might make it obvious that he’s- having trouble.

“Hey, Ford. Did you move the soda?” Stan asks. 

“No,” Ford replies, absently. “Didn’t we move the soda to the cooler to save space?”

Stan chuckles almost nervously. “Right, right.” 

Luckily, the cooler is visible and Stan grabs a Pitt soda. But now that his distraction is complete, he needs to find his way to the deck. 

Fuck. 

He can’t exactly ask for directions to the deck can he?

“Well, I’ll see you,” Stan says. Then he wanders off. 

Unfortunately, Stan wanders back into the kitchen, his can empty, with no recollection of drinking it. He doesn’t remember getting to the deck. He quickly licks his lips. Only the sticky taste of soda remains, nothing that reminds him of the salty sea. 

This time, Ford notices his presence. He looks up from his journal. 

“Is something the matter, Stan? You came back pretty quickly,” Ford asks, smiling. 

Stan manages to return the smile. “Oh, you know…” he says before trailing off. 

Thankfully, Ford doesn’t sense anything wrong and accepts the answer with a hum. 

It is a good thing though? Because now Stan is standing in the kitchen, not knowing what to do, wondering if he should try to get to the deck again. He can’t ask for directions, that’s a red flag, but maybe he could-

Well, he should toss his can first, maybe grab another because he couldn’t remember drinking the first, maybe grab himself a snack because he’s feeling peckish-

He- he doesn’t remember where to toss out his can either. 

Stan doesn’t even remember where to grab another soda even though he knows he must have gotten it only a few minutes ago. 

He slumps over in defeat. 

“Hey, Ford. There’s something I gotta tell you…”

\-----

-6

Stan wakes up with a splitting headache and a dry mouth

Ugh, a hangover. 

Thankfully he’s fully dressed and nothing feels missing (god, one of these days he’s going to wake up with a kidney gone) so he figures he’s avoided the worst case scenario. 

A soft groan to his side alerts him that he isn’t alone, but luckily it’s Ford, also fully dressed (a pity) and clutching his head. So whatever mischief that happened last night was caused by the both of them. That’s good. They couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble together, especially if they were waking up not-in-a-jail-cell. 

Just in case, Stan looks around. 

They’re clearly in a barn, but with no animals, and they’re lying in piles of hay. Stan stands up with some trouble, but manages to get up after his headache starts to settle. He pats off his clothes and does a more thorough inspection of himself. Clothes, check. Wallet, check. All of his body parts, check. 

Then the memories start coming back and he seems to remember parking the boat at a small town along the coast for a resupply. The two of them were lured to a pub with the promise of hot food and cheap drinks and they coincidentally found themselves in the middle of a party. They ate and drank heavily last night and Stan remembers how a farmer offered up his barn for the night. 

After the party, the two of them had stumbled into the barn and had quickly fallen asleep. 

Huh. Pretty anticlimactic, all things considering. 

(He feels like he’s not remembering something- but he dismissed the thought. It’ll come back to him, he’s sure.) 

Stan moves closer to Ford and sees that his brother is still sleeping. He’s curled up in a ball on his side, muttering something about moonshine. 

“Hey.” Stan shakes his shoulder. 

Ford bats him away, scowling. 

The sight makes Stan want to do something to his brother, tease him maybe. Tickle his neck with a piece of straw, maybe blow a raspberry into his neck, or maybe kiss him sloppily till he’s awake. But the sound of things moving outside makes him stand up and ignore the urge. When they’re alone in the Stan O’ War, maybe he’ll give those ideas a go. For now, he’ll see what’s happening outside and see if they’ll be kicked out. 

But outside, all Stan finds is a bunch of animals walking around. Chickens peck at the ground and a slow moving cow lazily chews on grass in front of the barn. It’s still dark, not even sunrise yet. There are no people to greet him. 

Stan takes advantage of a water pump he spots nearby and takes a drink of water. Then he splashes his face and the brisk water has him awake and ready to move. He doesn’t want to overstay his welcome after all. (What he remembers is amicable, but his memory hasn’t always proven accurate the last few months. Better to leave as soon as possible after they restock.) 

There’s a creak of a door and out pops Ford, rubbing his eyes. His hair is sticking out in all different directions and Stan wants to run his hands through the fluffy locks. (He holds in that urge, as well.) 

He pumps out some water for Ford who sticks his whole head under the stream. When he comes up, he looks visibly alert. 

“I can’t believe we drank that much,” Ford says, grinning. “I can’t remember a time I binged that much since- well, never.” 

Stan snorts and leans against the pump. “Really? You were doing pretty good last night.”

Ford shakes his head, grinning. “Yes, well I’m stubborn and I have incredible willpower.” 

“That sounds about right,” Stan says. 

They both huff out a soft laugh. After they’re done, they both look at each other. Ford is looking at him fondly, his gaze soft. Stan returns the look with a lop-sided grin. Soon they’re moving closer to one another, their faces coming together-

“Bawk.”

They pull apart quickly, but it’s just a chicken, come to peck at their feet. It moves between them with no fear and they both realize where they are; out in the open where anyone can see them. 

Ford clears his throat. “Shall we head back to the boat?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Stan says, quickly. 

And they hurry off, leaving a quick message of thanks to the farmer who let them stay. By silent agreement, they both decide to move fast. The faster they move, the sooner they’ll be alone in the Stan O’ War. 

They walk along the path, back towards the tiny town where they docked their ship. They discuss the supplies they need, bickering good-naturedly about where the majority of their money should go and about the necessity about some more controversial items. 

“..We don’t need a fancy schmancy thermometer, Sixer. If we need to know if it’s hot or cold, we can just stick our heads out above the deck.”

“..Well, I don’t think we’ll find circus peanuts here, but that seems like a frivolous purchase anyways. If we need sweets we should buy something a little more long-lasting and also less- orange.”

“..Ugh, if you try buying something with a scientific name we’re going to be run out of town. Again. Just call it by it’s normal name, like bleach.”

“..Definitely not, Stanley! I’m not going to buy- buy prophylactics at a local shop!” Ford looks around after saying the words. His voice drops in volume. “We’ll have to wait for a more populated place that won’t care.”

Stan sighs. “Okay, fine. They might not have any here anyways. But I’ll remind you of that when we’ve run out. Of lube too.”

Ford shushes him even though there’s no one around and Stan mimes zipping his lips. However, maybe it’s a smart move, because they’ve just arrived back in town. 

“Get to the boat first in case we need to make a quick escape?” Stan suggests.

“I thought you said we only had a night on the town?” Ford asks. “Nothing...that had to do with your light fingers?”

Stan shrugs. “I don’t remember  _ everything _ , ya know? But if we’re not being greeted by a mob, I think that’s a good sign.”

There was no mob in sight and no discontent amongst the townsfolk when they entered. No chaos, or destruction after a night on the town. The few people that are up and about nodded at them and they returned the greeting. The town stayed quiet and sleepy despite the twins walking through their midst. Surely someone would have put out an alarm if the two of them aren’t welcome. 

The walk to the pier is quiet as they kept their voices low, just in case. 

But when they get to the pier-

“What?”

“Fuck.” 

The Stan O’ War isn’t docked. At first they think it’s just the wrong part of the beach and they traverse the length arguing about which boat they parked next to (“I’m sure it was green.” “Yeah, but does it have a huge life buoy on the side?”), but after a few trips they still can’t find their boat. By this time, more and more people are up and about, especially the sailors and they give Stan and Ford quizzical looks. 

By their third round, they’re definitely getting stared at. 

“Perhaps we should ask for directions,” Ford suggests. While he normally wouldn’t, there are some rather sensitive materials on the boat that he doesn’t want falling into any layman’s hands. And their multiple trips are getting ridiculous. 

(In addition, the staring and pointing…it’s getting to Ford. He knows the locals are probably just laughing because they’re tourists that lost their boat, but somehow he can’t shake the feeling that they’re staring at his hands.) 

“What? No, it’s fine. We’re fine. Maybe we just missed it on our second run through,” Stan says and he suspiciously pops his collar while doing so. It blocks the view of his brother’s face as a local boat passes by. 

Ford narrows his eyes. 

“What did you do last night?” 

Stan’s eyes widen. “Nothing, I didn’t do a damn thing,” his brother says quickly. Too quickly. 

Ford narrows his eyes. He’s about to say something to dispute that when Stan suddenly points behind him. “Hey! I think I found the ol’ Stan O’ War!”

Then his twin starts jogging away, escaping the conversation. Ford rolls his eyes. Stan won’t get out of this conversation that easily. He turns to see if their boat is actually there (or has been used as a distraction) and pauses. 

“ _ Stanley, what did you do _ ?”

Their boat has been moved to a dock next to the town, meant for commercial boats, loading and unloading. Not at all meant for a personal boat like theirs. That’s why they never checked these docks. 

But apparently, there are exceptions to the rule. 

“A little help here?” Stan calls out. He’s quickly pulling up the anchor and setting up to sail. 

All Ford can do is slowly approach their boat, mouth open in shock. 

There are flowers all over their boat. Not just flowers, but garlands and streamers and confetti- decorations of all shapes and sizes fill their boat and he spots a wreath set on their cabin door. Unusual yes, but what’s even more eye catching is the banner that stretches across the front to the back of the boat, fluttering in the wind. It reads-

“Since when did we get married!!!” Ford exclaims. 

“Not the time, Ford! Let’s just get out of here,” Stan says, and it looks like he’s gotten the mast all ready to go. 

Right, marriage between two people that look alike. Not exactly accepted in normal society. Maybe it might have been okay in the dead of night, while everyone was drunk and the night was dark and no one could see clearly, but opinions might change in the daytime. Ford hurries to the boat to help Stan. 

They’re ripping off the banner when a small crowd starts to approach the boat. 

Thankfully, they pull out of the dock before they can get close. 

The crowd is yelling at them and Ford is glad they managed to leave so quickly, but then he takes a look at the crowd. They’re calling out in their native language, but by their tone and their smiling expressions- they’re happy?

And now that Ford listens, even though he can’t understand them, he can tell they’re yelling their congratulations. Especially when they wave and whistle enthusiastically. One of the townsfolk even launches a bouquet. Ford leans out of the boat to catch it and the crowd cheers even harder. 

Eventually, they sail away far enough not to see their expressions anymore and Ford turns to Stan, who has a light flush to his cheeks. 

“So are you sure we had a party last night? Or was it a wedding?” Ford asks, waving the bouquet he received in Stan’s face. 

Stan pushes the flowers away. “If we don't remember, it doesn’t count.”

“No wonder you didn’t want to ask for directions,” Ford says with a laugh. 

Stan chuckles too. “I thought we were gonna get run out. First time I’ve been run out by a wedding procession.”

\-----

-7

Stan stares at the road, a death grip on the wheel. He’s having second thoughts driving through the area. He wonders if he should have forgone the StanMobile, it’s his trademark after all, but he couldn’t leave it behind. Not here. 

Ford keeps his nose buried in his journal and furiously writes. He looks like he should be engrossed in his research, but he keeps stealing glances out the window. When they pass by a road sign, he stares at it until it disappears from view. 

“Five miles, Stan,” Ford says plaintively. 

“I know, Ford. I know,” Stan says, grumpily. But he betrays the tone when his expression immediately turns worried. He reaches over and Ford immediately reaches back and they clasp hands. 

Only a few minutes later they reach a big, aging billboard sign. The paint is peeling at the sides, the colors are fading, and the graffiti stands out more than the picture of a happy family next to the ocean. The words ‘Glass Shard Beach’ can be barely made out at the top. 

They’re back. 

Surprisingly when they cross the city line, nothing happens. Stan isn’t sure what he was expecting, maybe a mob to chase him out, some cops that start shooting, or maybe his Dad just pointing at him to get out- 

Well. Maybe not that, but something. He shouldn’t be surprised though. It’s barely morning and the sun has just started rising. They can barely see anything through the fog of the morning, so maybe all three things are there, waiting to put Stanley down for crossing the city line. 

But they go a further ways in and nothing happens. 

He squeezes Ford’s hand. 

Ford, on the other hand, has his nose practically pressed up to the glass. He hasn’t been back in- he can’t even remember the last time he was here. That might have something to do with how he desperately tried to forget his time in Glass Shard without Stanley. The bullying got worse without his brother. Home life was a mess with the hole his brother left behind. And he remembers thinking to himself that he was going to prove how small-minded everyone was in the town.

But looking back, Ford was pretty small-minded too. Incredibly petty, and unknowing of what was important in life. Just like everyone else. 

Now he looks over the slivers of the beach and small buildings and thinks to himself how everything is so small. 

“Yeesh, is it just me, or is everything a dump now?” 

Stan’s voice breaks the silence and they tighten their grip on one another. 

Nothing happens. 

“It’s just a little run-down,” Ford defends. He doesn’t know why though. Only that he has to say a few words in the defense of their childhood home. “And it'll look better in the sunlight.” 

When the sun does come up, Ford is proven right. In the sunlight, the town looks charming with its old-fashioned buildings and odd mish mash of architecture. When the people start to come out, it becomes clear that the place is still a tourist spot. 

They find a parking spot, one that’s not supposed to be used for parking, but they’ll deal with any consequences as they come and start walking. They blend in easily enough, both with the locals and tourists alike. The tourists think they must be locals, walking with ease around the place. While the locals don’t recognize their faces and see how the two keep rubber-necking. 

Stan and Ford don’t notice the brief looks they garner, too busy with their own observation of the town. It looks exactly the same. They recognize practically every nook and cranny. But it’s also wildly different. Stan turns around expecting to see a sandwich shop and then almost has a heart attack when he sees the Wacdonalds. Ford moves towards a building expecting an alley and finds a wall instead. 

They almost get lost (and they refuse to ask for directions) although they find their way soon enough, little recognizable sights like bread crumbs, redirecting them back to the path to something they do remember. They visit their school, they visit the beach, they visit the pier, and finally they visit the pawn shop. 

Except it isn’t a pawn shop anymore. 

“Why the fuck is it called Nonna’s Antique Store?” Stan says incredulously. 

Ford can’t even reply, he’s taken in by the sign hanging above the shop of a wizened old woman staring at them with too little teeth. It- isn’t a pretty sight. 

Stan pulls his brother in and they look in together. 

Inside, the shop is filled with ‘antiques’, crochet patterns, and kitschy Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey junk, all with quilted patterns. It’s obviously been turned into a tourist trap. They can’t find hide nor hair of the old pawn shop with its old oddities, but instead a carefully cultivated grandma store meant to lure in suckers. 

“It’s what our old man would have wanted,” Stan mumbles, watching a tourist actually buy a ‘I <3 GSB’ quilt magnet. (Why quilts?) 

“Stan,” Ford whispers. “Look.” 

Stan turns and sees the stairs up- and a sign for a psychic. 

They share a look and make their way up. 

Immediately, the atmosphere changes from pastel blues to deep purples. The area above is dim and Ford even starts coughing at the copious amounts of incense that’s being burned. They pull back a curtain to see a hooded figure sitting over a crystal ball. 

“Can I help you gentleman?” A voice underneath the hood says, silkily. 

The two of them share another look. 

“Ah, but it looks like you’re seeking guidance,  _ direction _ you could say,” the voice continues and the hood falls off the psychic’s head revealing- 

A woman. Nothing remarkable about her, except for her badly dyed red hair. Mid 50’s, with a button nose, and a fat chin. 

“Our apologies, but I think we aren’t in need of your services, after all,” Ford says. 

Then they file out of her room and back down. They leave the antique shop and head towards the beach, no asking for directions necessary. The beach is just as dirty as they remember and filled with more glass shards than one could shake a stick at. But the ocean is as beautiful a sight as ever. 

With a new memory of the beach made, they leave the town and drive away. 

\----

+1

It’s a beautiful day in Piedmont, California. The grass is green, the sun is shining, it’s not too hot nor too cold, and there’s a gentle breeze that carries the smell of plant life through the air. 

Not that Mabel can smell it. She’s stuck in a classroom trying to learn about geometry, blech. (Which is a terrible, terrible subject. If Bill hadn’t traumatized her with triangles already, then geometry would have.) The window seat she has shows her a perfect view of the lovely outside world that she can’t be in. 

She looks back into the classroom and it’s all beiges and whites and not a single color in sight. Even the chalkboard is a dull grey instead of a classic green that she’s seen on television shows. 

Almost everyone looks just as tired as she feels, most students flopped over their desks as the teacher drones on and on. 

Not Dipper though. Dipper is bent over the desk, his pencil skimming across the page. Thank goodness one of them is taking notes. She’ll probably borrow them later. 

But the longer she looks, the longer she realizes that Dipper’s writing doesn’t match up with the teacher writing on the board. In fact, he’s writing way too much and too steadily to be school notes. 

He must be working on his journal, Mabel realizes. Her brother has been working on his own journal ever since they came back home. Mabel was helping with some of the illustrations and knows how important the journal is. She just hasn’t realized that Dipper wanted to make it enough to do it at school during class. 

Mabel wonders what he's writing about and so intensely, and she thinks about all the new drawings and comments that she’ll get to add. 

Daydreaming actually makes time pass and by the time the bell rings, she’s no longer bored. She’s tempted to jump up from her desk and rush out the door with her fellow students, but she hangs back when she sees Dipper stay behind. 

The room clears out and moments later they’re the only ones left. Even the teacher has left the room. 

Mabel makes her way over and peers over her brother’s shoulder. She’s right, Dipper’s working on journal pages. 

“Wow, that’s a pretty good picture of the multi-bear,” she comments. Multibear dancing to Babba makes for a very striking journal page. 

“Ah!” Dipper jumps up from his seat. He whips around. “Mabel! Don’t scare me like that! And- thanks.”

“Not that I want to stop you, but school’s over. What say you and I get out of here and enjoy the outside.” 

Dipper blinks and looks at the clock. “I hadn’t even realized that the day was over,” he mumbles. 

“Yeah, so let’s go enjoy the rest of it,” Mabel says. A gentle nudge gets Dipper moving and they quickly make their way outside. 

“So, I know you love making the journals and all, but I didn’t realize that you were working on them at school. I thought of the two of us, you were supposed to be the good student,” Mabel asks as they’re walking. 

Dipper shrugs absently. “I dunno. I just felt like I had to work on them. Normally I would pay attention, but today they just felt important.”

“Huh.” 

Maybe she should have realized then that the day is going to be different than normal. 

When they finally make their way to the pick-up area, most of the rush has already passed and only a few cars are idling on the sidewalk. They don’t see their parents’ cars and walk slowly, saying goodbye to the friends who are still lingering on campus. In the corner of their eye, they spot two figures step out of a cherry red car. 

They both turn as one-

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!” 

Their eyes aren’t deceiving them. Their Grunkles are leaning against the Stanmobile, grinning and waving at them. They look just like the pictures they sent, still bedecked in their sweaters and boots suited for the sea. 

Mabel and Dipper run over to them. 

Mabel gets there first and Ford scoops her up off the ground and into a great big hug. Dipper slams into Stan and wraps his arms around the man’s middle and Stan pulls him close. For a moment, nothing else matters except for the fact that they're all together again as a family. 

“You’re here,” Dipper says breathlessly. He looks up at Stan, who is grinning widely at the two of them. (The sight of Wendy’s hat gives him a chuckle.) Then Dipper tilts his head. “Did something happen? Did you guys find something in the Atlantic- is it another Bill Cipher-”

“Woah, woah,” Stan gives Dipper a little shake. “We just wanted to come see you guys.”

“That’s right,” Ford agrees. “While adventure and exploration is satisfying, it isn’t the same without our favorite grand niece and grand nephew.” 

Dipper awkwardly chuckles and Mabel buries her face in Ford’s shoulder with a giggle.

“We missed you too, Grunkle Ford,” Dipper says. 

“Yeah, we did,” Mabel agrees. 

Ford and Stan share a soft smile at the words. 

The beep of a car interrupts their moment and they separate. 

“Come on, we’re taking the two of you out,” Stan says with a grin. “Point me in the right direction and we’ll go paint the town red.” 

The Pines cheer at that and they start a chant as they pile into the car. The twins tell their grunkles all about their hometown and start a rapid fire suggestion list. Ford writes them all down, while Stan puts his foot on the pedal and speeds off to their first destination. 

**Author's Note:**

> nightfoliage - Just a quick fic before getting back into things. (This one only took a month! Yet it’s 8k!?!? Dang. I’m so impressed by our teamwork XD) Pulled the idea from the Stancest Scavenger Hunt list of prompts. There are quite a few that I want to maybe write about in the future.


End file.
